


boys night out

by strawberryfinn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Body Shots, Body Worship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Plot? What Plot?, Tequila, Voyeurism, body glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which all the boys take body shots off of Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boys night out

**Author's Note:**

> this story is set around the time when liam’s second kidney re-appeared. based off of this tweet: https://twitter.com/NiallOfficial/status/232908418619437057 
> 
> plot? what plot?
> 
> this is the sexiest thing i have ever written. i’m not very sexy so i hope it is okay. ft. lots of slutty niall
> 
>  **pairings** : nouis, niam, ziall, narry, zianourry/ot5

Liam's planning on doing a twitcam for the fans. The boys are going out like they always do whenever they're fueled with adrenaline from a show, and with the news of his reappearing kidney, Liam is tempted to join them.

But the responsible side of him, the sensible, rational side, tells him no. He shouldn't go because he's never had alcohol in his life and he doesn't really need to drink, does he? There are so many unnecessary calories, alcohol causes clouded judgment, it causes hangovers. He's seen Harry keeled over the porcelain goddess enough time to know this is the truth.

So when the boys ask him if he's coming out, he politely declines (which means he flips Zayn the middle finger for calling him square and a stick in the mud and you are a real _payne-in-the-ass,_ Liam). He's just about to get on his laptop when Louis practically materializes next to him, grapples his computer out of his lap, and throws it to the side.

Louis looks half deranged, ocean eyes stormy and manic, and Liam's almost scared because Louis looks like he might just kidnap Liam and tie him up if he even tries to refuse.

That's basically what Louis ends up doing. The boys throw him into a taxi cab—all of them sandwiched together, nearly suffocating each other and Liam can hardly breathe, but he just hears Louis's low, almost feral growl—

“You don't get a choice, Payne. You've got two kidneys now. No more excuses. You're being initiated tonight.”

**_____________________________________**

Liam's never understood why the boys are all so eager to go out. Sure drinking is supposed to be fun, and maybe they want to go out into the city, but there are always so many fans to deal with, so many strangers and unfamiliar bodies. And Niall gets claustrophobic so how does he even handle it and Louis gets his ass grabbed and Harry gets accused of being a womanizer and Zayn likes to lay low, so it doesn't make sense. Even more, he's never quite understood why they're always so determined to bring Niall. (He remembers that time that Niall had food poisoning and Louis had been planning a night out, and then all of the boys had ended up staying home, curled around Niall, whispering sweet nothings to him. And Louis had persistently asked, “You think you'll feel better by tomorrow, Nialler? Surely you can go out tomorrow?”) Sure, the Irish boy is a hoot, but they're all fun, right?

He thinks he gets it now. He's perturbed, almost embarrassed about this entire situation, but he can't stop staring.

He's standing, back against the wall, eyes wide as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.

Louis immediately called for a round of tequila shots for all of them, and Liam can smell the alcohol even from where he's standing. The smell is strong, nauseating—smells like rubbing alcohol, and he can't even begin to imagine drinking it, but all the other boys are already a bit gone. He's pretty sure Louis's downed a good two shots before he's gotten to this state, and now Liam is watching, almost horrified, mouth dropped.

“Watch and learn,” Louis orders, immediately taking charge, and Liam can only nod dumbly.

“We're gonna demonstrate for you,” Harry adds as an after-note, and Zayn grips Liam's shoulder in a way that's apparently meant to be supportive before turning their eyes to the situation at hand.

Niall's spread out on the coffee table, legs inviting, clad only in a small pair of black Calvin Kleins. His chest is bare, and there's a hitched, dazed smile on his face, his eyes clouded over with liquor-induced glee.

Liam watches as Zayn beckons Louis forward, pouty lips curled in a smirk, before pouring golden liquid from a small shot glass into Niall's bellybutton, when dawning horror erupts in his stomach. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Liam's never had alcohol before, but he's no idiot—he knows where this is heading. They're gonna do body shots. Not only that, they're gonna do body shots off of _Niall._

Louis is on Niall in seconds, flicking his tongue over Niall's stomach, into his bellybutton. Niall rolls, squirming, eyes curled up in mirth, (“Christ, Lou that bloody tickles,”) before erupting into a fit of giggles. He only stops when Zayn pins him down, and Harry's on the other side, rubbing small circles into Niall's shoulders, voice even lower than usual, like he's swallowed gravel, “Be good for us, yeah, come on, Ni, be good.”

Louis's chin is slick with tequila, and he grins, lips curling over white teeth. He clambers off of Niall, moving up to his head, and Niall's still squirming under Zayn's hold on his wrists. Louis is humming lovingly, dark lashes fluttering, eyelids closed over stormy ocean irises as he trails his tongue over the column of Niall's neck. He grins mischievously, running a line of small salt crystals on Niall's skin, and then licking again, his curling pink tongue unbelievably sexual in the darkness of the club. Liam watches as Louis grins mischievously, and then sinks his blindingly white, sharp white teeth—like a shark—into Niall's skin, sucking a hard love bite onto the canvas of Niall's body. Niall lets out a breathy moan, hips canting slightly upwards, stomach sticky from where Louis lapped alcohol from his navel like a kitten drinking milk. Harry stuffs a lime wedge into his mouth to shut him up, and Niall just takes it. The music in the club is pounding and Liam's glad they have a private room because this definitely is _not_ allowed to make the tabloids.

Louis pulls the lime wedge expertly out of Niall's mouth, hands knotted behind his back. He chews and spits it out and finishes, crowing in triumph as he points out the bright red hickey on Niall's neck. “Let's see you beat _that,_ Zaynie,” he challenges, before turning to Liam who's pink-faced and hot and bothered and wants to be anywhere but _here._ “Enjoying the show, babe?”

Liam doesn't get to answer because then there's Zayn. 

Zayn goes straight to the chase, licks tequila off the light trail of hair on the taut planes of Niall's stomach. Louis sprays on some whipped cream (where the fuck did that come from?) and Zayn slurps on it, mouth messy and white and sugary sweet. Harry's grinning, brushing back his dark curls of hair, smile bright in the dark of the room. Niall's moaning now, unchecked, and Liam tries to convince himself it must be the alcohol and the adrenaline from the toxic liquid because there's no way in _hell_ that he can follow the show Zayn is putting on. Niall's body is a writhing, twisting mess under the strobe lights, shining pale and sparkling, and is that _body glitter_ that Harry just smeared on? and Liam realizes with a shock that Niall _loves_ it. Niall loves it, loves being the center of attention, he's a slut, a little _voyeur,_ and this exhibitionism is what's nearly putting him over the edge.

Zayn and Niall make a delicious, vibrant contrast—dark and mysterious against bright and open and nearly _idiotic._ They're aesthetically made for each other, Liam reasons, but then all rationale is lost. Niall's moaning, unchecked into Zayn's body, pale body arching up in a perfect rainbow, and Zayn takes his time, teasing Niall as he grins wolfishly, quiff disheveled and falling over to the side. Louis slaps salt onto Niall's chest, and Zayn bloody _winks_ before trailing his tongue up around one of Niall's pearled nipples, sucking it into his mouth as Niall practically screams.

(Liam wonders how often they do this, do they do this every night, why hasn't he ever come along, why did his damn kidney not show up until now, how is this fair, this isn't fair, this isn't fair in the slightest). 

Zayn's eyes are black, dark, predatory as he nudges the lime wedge out of Niall's lips, tongue brushing into the caverns of Niall's mouth. He chews almost thoughtfully (Liam struggles not to laugh, and a bubble of hysteria is growing in him because what the fuck is happening are they all gay what kind of polymorphous relationship is this), and then spits it out.

“Thanks babes,” Zayn whispers, voice deep and dangerous, and he kisses Niall, runs his tongue under Niall's bottom lip.

Niall—the bloody voyeur—he just giggles, blue eyes blown dark with desire, bringing up a hand to touch Zayn's scruff gently. “Anytime, Z.” 

And then there's Harry... Harry talks to the slowest, so it seems only appropriate that he does everything the slowest. Liam watches as Harry walks around Niall, seemingly studying the spent body introspectively. Niall moans in impatience, a broken, “Haz, _please_ ,” creeping off his lips, and Harry tosses back his head and _laughs._

“Harry, stop it,” Zayn demands, suddenly innately protective, his fingers curling around Niall's arm. “Go on, get on with it. He's been so good for us, you need to stop teasing him.”

“Fine,” Harry spits, but there's no venom, his mouth curls up goofily. He looks like Niall from before, at the beginning, before Louis and Zayn slurped liquid off his body.

Harry holds the shot glass gingerly in his fingers before thoroughly dousing Niall's stomach. He watches as the tequila slides down Niall's taut, muscled chest, and then he nearly throws himself on top of Niall—kind of like he often does on their shows. Harry slots his body together with Niall's as Liam watches. Louis whistles appreciatively, Zayn looks a bit perturbed at being out done.

Because Harry's everywhere, curls of mahogany hair brushing against Niall's collarbones. His eyes are squeezed shut like he's _concentrating,_ long tongue trailing over the hypersensitive surface of Niall's skin. Niall's hips are rocking up against Harry's, and Harry pins Niall's hands up against the tabletop, as he continues to slurp the alcohol off of Niall's shiny body like he's been in a drought for too long and Niall's the first source of water he's seen in a year.

“Har-ry,” Niall breathes, and there's no lime this time, Harry just launches himself upwards and captures Niall's lips with his own. Liam watches them, torn between (horrified) fascination, feeling a bit like he's infringing on a private moment, as Harry nearly devours Niall's mouth. It's dark, but a light flashes by momentarily, and Liam can see their tongues slick against each other's, hot breaths, feverish, and this is _insane._

Liam swallows hard when Harry finally climbs off Niall's body, grinning like he's just run a marathon at the Olympics. He forces himself to look down at the floor, fingers trembling, as all the boys turn to glance at him.

“It's your turn, Li,” Niall says, and his voice is so bloody innocent he might be asking how much that roll of chocolate biscuits is from the market. He's ruined, blonde brown gold hair disheveled, mouth slightly parted, pink lips wet and slick. His face shimmers from the body glitter, his neck looks long and inviting, his creamy thighs are exposed and _shit_ Liam is not looking at his thighs.

“I'm... I'm not doing that,” Liam manages to get out, but his voice cracks—the traitor that it is, and Louis frowns at him, brows furrowing dangerously low.

“Yes you are, Liam,” Louis orders, “we brought you out tonight for a reason. Tonight's your _initiation,_ and you're not gonna leave Niall just hanging are you? After he's been so good for us.”

“You... you guys are mental,” Liam retorts, but his reply falls on deaf ears because there are fingers wrapping around his wrists, guiding him towards Niall's lithe body.

Niall looks so eager, so hopeful, that Liam's almost deceived into thinking that it's Nialler, his little Nialler, the ball of energy, the little innocent leprechaun and not this slutty, Irish god.

But then Niall's mouth hitches up, revealing crooked teeth and a sinful tongue, and Liam knows he's done for.

“What do I do?” he asks, and Zayn laughs (“Always knew you had it in you, Liam”) as Harry shoves a shot glass into his hand.

“Well, the correct way to do it—the lads and I usually just improvise,” simpers Louis, “is this. You lick salt off Niall, take the shot, and then take the lime wedge out of his mouth. But we've tried all different ways and all different orders, and Niall is the best person to take shots off of, I assure you.” His breath is hot and warm against the back of Liam's neck, and Liam can feel the hairs raise. He shudders, and Harry laughs.

“I want it on his collarbone,” Liam says automatically, because Niall's collarbones are inviting and glistening, and Liam wants to know how they taste, wants to lick Niall and taste Niall and taste all of them because this is so fucked up, and go big or go home, right? His heart is pounding in his chest, because he doesn't know how he's gonna make this as good as Zayn or Louis or Harry did, but he's going to give it his all.

“That's my boy,” Zayn chuckles, and Liam punches him. Harry sprinkles out salt onto Niall's collarbones as requested, and Liam keens forward. The contact is awkward, too hot, too sloppy, but he's too sober for this still, and Niall's drunk so evidently nothing matters except for Liam and Niall and the taste of Zayn and Louis and Harry on Niall's body.

He finishes licking the salt off, almost reluctantly, and he takes the shot. The alcohol burns his throat going down, and he makes a hideous, crumpled face that makes Niall cackle with laughter, but Niall quickly stops when Liam dives down on top of him, teeth on his neck, his face, the underside of his jaw. The alcohol's working its way into his body, leaving his stomach warm and hot, and Liam's acutely aware of the way Niall's hips are rutting up into his own. He moves his hands down, looping them into the small, tight waistband of Niall's Calvin Kleins.

“You want the lime?” he hears Zayn ask, and Liam nods, almost frantically. 

“Payne's a monster,” he hears Harry say to Louis, “never would have expected this.” And then everything fades out because his mouth is searching desperately for the small green lime in Niall's mouth. He can taste Niall, taste the alcohol that lines Niall's slick lips. He pulls the lime out, spits it roughly to the side, and then brings his hands up to tug on Niall's hair, pull the golden locks, burrowing his tongue further and further into Niall's mouth.

He finally comes up for air, breathless. Niall's staring at him, coyly, almost shyly, and Liam's dizzy, but he can't help his laughter when he sees the three other boys staring at him like he just walked on the moon.

He winks at Louis, before saying, “Who's ready for round two?”


End file.
